


Where Does the Good Go? Pt2

by uglykitten



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 09:58:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17343212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uglykitten/pseuds/uglykitten
Summary: She made her way through the catacombs, wondering if she was even going in the right direction. But if the Railroad was trying to stay hidden, this would be a good place to run their operations. She arrived at what seemed like a dead end when she noticed a large dial on the wall. She remembered that Doctor Amari had given her a password. She spun the dial to enter the password, and the stone she thought was a wall, began to slide open.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a kind of sequel to Where Does the Good Go?; I mostly just wanted to write some Deacon/Atlas affection-platonic fluff- lovey dovey BFF stuff. So! Give it a read!

Atlas was trudging through the city in the icy cold, on her way to the Old North Church. It had been two months since Maccready left to return to the Capital Wasteland, and even now, Atlas was doing everything in her power to keep her mind off it; she missed him. After he left, she dove back head first into her investigation with Nick. They took that strange piece Atlas found on Kellogg to Doctor Amari and did some sort of memory transplant. She didn’t really remember what happened, it was all just a blur of nonsensical information to her.

               She travelled with Piper a lot after that, but Piper liked to talk and Atlas couldn’t reciprocate. After they found and killed the Courser in the CIT building, they went their separate ways again. Piper missed Nat and her newspaper, so she returned to Diamond City for the time being.

               “Come get me when you want to head out again,” she had told Atlas. “You know where to find me.”

               Atlas had given her a firm embrace and said she’d come around when she wasn’t in such a rut. Piper was kind and understanding, and Atlas was eternally grateful. She loved Piper, but things were hard for her lately, and she realized she just wanted to be alone. She functioned better that way.

               She was travelling with Dogmeat now; he helped keep her safe and didn’t ask any invasive questions. She was approaching the church, looking for some sort of secret entrance the Railroad might use. None were visible, if there were any at all, so she slowly made her way inside using the main entrance. It felt good to get out of the wind and cold. She heard light rustling in the next room over, and peered around the corner. Ferals. She tossed a plasma grenade towards the center of the room, killing three. Another arose from behind a broken pew, giving her a clear head shot. She crept into the room, Dogmeat in tow, and took it all in; the decrepit structure was haunting. The smell of old, rotten wood was familiar now, but didn’t make her feel any better. She remembered visiting the church one spring when she came to Boston to visit her brother…

She clenched her eyes shut as if to reboot her thoughts: she needed to focus. After a deep breath, she noticed a lantern painted on the collapsed walkway of the church. Was that an opening? Suddenly, a feral lunged toward her, Dogmeat tackling two feet from her body. He immobilized it enough for her to bash it with the Old Testament, her spiked baseball bat. She laughed at the irony of using it in a church. She moved as quietly as she could across the rubble toward the secret entrance.

               She made her way through the catacombs, wondering if she was even going in the right direction. But if the Railroad was trying to stay hidden, this would be a good place to run their operations. She arrived at what seemed like a dead end when she noticed a large dial on the wall. She remembered that Doctor Amari had given her a password. She spun the dial to enter the password, and the stone she thought was a wall, began to slide open.

               She entered cautiously into a dark room, trying to turn on the light for her Pip-boy, when three blinding lights shone in her eyes. She reflexively shielded her eyes, and Dogmeat growled, ready for his que. Atlas noticed three figures standing in front of her. Armed.

               “Who the hell are you?” a woman demanded. Atlas immediately dubbed her the leader.

               She decided to play nice since there were three guns pointed at her. “My name is Atlas. I’m looking for the Railroad.”

               She lowered her arm as her eyes adjusted to the light. She did not receive friendly looks from her new company. She put a hand in front of Dogmeat that told him to relax.

               “What business do you have with the Railroad?” the woman spoke again.

               “I was told you could help me with something,” Atlas complied, raising her hands slowly. “I have an item in my pocket I was told you could decode.”

               She reached into the pouch on her belt and pulled out the Courser’s relay device.

               “Holy shit,” the other woman breathed; she had dark skin and white hair. “You took down a Courser?”

               “Glory,” the leader barked. “How did you obtain that?” turning her attention back to Atlas.

               Atlas sighed. She was getting tired of telling the same story over and over. It was like twisting the knife. “I killed a Courser. I was told you could decode this to help get me in the Institute.”

               As she finished, a fourth figure appeared from behind the trio. “Whoa Des, this is the girl I was telling you about.”

               As he came into view, Atlas noticed he had thick dark hair, sporting a dirty t-shirt and jeans, and sunglasses. He looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place it.

               “This is the vault dweller?” the leader, now named Des, asked.

               “Yeah, let her in. She isn’t working for anyone but herself,” the figure stated. His tone was too casual for Atlas’s comfort.

               “You’re vouching for her, Deacon?” Des asked suspiciously.

               “Yeah, she’s cool,” Deacon chuckled.

               They all lowered their weapons, and Des waved her forward. “If Deacon says…” she trailed off, slightly irritated.

               The wall behind them shifted and slid to the side to reveal a whole other room, where Atlas guessed was their real headquarters.

               Atlas took a few steps forward, following the guards, Dogmeat at her side. Deacon approached her as the other passed him; Glory gave him a pat on the shoulder as she walked by.

               “Don’t mind Desdemona, she’ll grow on ya,” Deacon whispered.

               Atlas stared at him, brow furrowed. “Do I know you?”

               Deacon laughed, “We’ll get to introductions later, I know you’re here on some pretty time sensitive business.”

               Atlas opened her mouth to say something, but he was right, and questioning him was wasting time. But how did he know? The only people who knew about the specifics of her situation, and her plan to break into the Institute was Nick and Piper… Maybe Doctor Amari said something? No, she wasn’t one for gossip. Piper loved a good story, but she wouldn’t share any of this without Atlas’s consent. Who was this guy? She was led into the headquarters and was met with watchful eyes. She hated it.

               Desdemona skipped the introductions and led her to Tinker Tom who was hunched over a computer. He didn’t seem to notice their approach; when she addressed him, he jumped.

               “This woman needs a Courser relay device decoded. Can you hack it?” Desdemona asked, handing him the piece she took from Atlas.

               Tinker Tom’s eyes widened with joy. “Ooh, I’ll definitely give it a whirl!”

               He began to connect some wires to the device, unscrewing this, and examining that.

               “I don’t know how long this’ll take, better make yourself comfortable,” he said at last.

               Atlas sighed quietly as Desdemona turned to Deacon. “Take her out on your run while we wait for Tom.”

               Atlas was about to interject, but the idea of sitting around doing _nothing_ sounded horrific.

               “Great idea,” Deacon mused enthusiastically. He turned to grab his things from the center table, a backpack and a laser pistol, and faced Atlas.

               “Ready to go?”


	2. Chapter 2

They stood in Slocum Joe’s, synth patrollers laid scattered and dismembered across the floor. Atlas was taking breaths in short gasps, she was pretty beat up, and trying to hide her pain. Clearing out the one of the Railroad’s overrun safehouses was tougher than she thought. She hadn’t run into a lot of synths in her travels; taking them down was much different than living things since they didn’t feel pain when she shot at them.

               Deacon was bruised and a little bloodied as well, but he was holding it together better than she was. She sat down on one of the stools and looked around the dilapidated store feeling nostalgic and sick.

               “Quite a view, isn’t it?” Deacon commented, gesturing to the ruin.

               Atlas grimaced, “I use to come here a lot. They had really good coffee.”

               Deacon tapped the espresso machine with his hand as some dust and debris floated off it. “Wouldn’t want to try it now.”

               Atlas chuckled lightly, causing the wound in her side to throb. She gritted her teeth and gripped the space below her chest piece. That was another thing she hated about Institute synths: they had better aim than Super Mutants.

               Deacon took notice to her discomfort, giving out a low whistle. “Looks bad, we might have to amputate.”

               Atlas threw him a side glare and stood up. “Let’s get back to HQ, Tom should be done by now, right?”

               “Whoa whoa whoa, first off, it’s Tinker Tom, show some respect,” Deacon said putting himself between her and the door. “And second, you need to clean that thing.” He pointed both index fingers at her wound.

               “I’ve walked off a lot worse,” Atlas said pushing past him, but the force made her gasp in pain.

               “That’s what I thought,” he said smugly. “Let’s find a more secure area. This place is giving me the heebie-jeebies now.”

               Atlas nodded, taking one last glance at the donut shop before exiting.

               They made their way about a mile down the road before Atlas started to hobble. She was exhausted, dehydrated, sore, and freezing. She was starting to see spots when she got Deacon’s attention.

               “Here, this place looks good,” she said gesturing toward a large shed. She just wanted to get off the road and rest.

               Deacon stared at her through his sunglasses, making it impossible to read his expression, but he agreed and followed behind her. She nearly collapsed onto the floor as soon as he closed the door behind them. She started to pull out some medical supplies when Deacon stopped her.

               “Please, allow me,” he said chivalrously. She rolled her eyes and continued to grab some alcohol and gauze.

               “Seriously, do you know what you’re doing?” Deacon questioned.

               “Do you?” she replied sharply.

               Deacon sighed and grabbed the supplies from her hands. He reached into his own pack and gave her a bottle of water. “You’re clearly dehydrated. Drink.”

               She drank the entire bottle without her lips ever leaving the rim.

               “Come on, the faster we start, the faster it’ll be over,” he said, wetting a clean cloth with the alcohol.

               “Is that how you win over the ladies?” Atlas snarked.

               Deacon laughed, giving her a thumbs-up. “Good one.”

               She took off her metal chest piece, and hesitated before unzipping her vault suit. Deacon pursed his lips into a slight scowl.

               “Shut up,” Atlas mumbled, finding the zipper on her suit. She slipped her arms out of the suit and shimmied it down to her hips. The cold air gave her goosebumps. She avoided meeting Deacon’s eyes. She laid back with her head resting on her backpack and closed her eyes.

               She felt him dab her wound, wincing at the pain. He wiped down the area around it, and Atlas heard him pull out more supplies.

               “It, uh, needs some stitches,” Deacon said apologetically.

               Atlas brought the sleeve of her vault suit to her mouth and bit down hard as he began to pierce her skin.

               Her eyes started to droop, and despite the pain, she wanted to sleep. She heard him snip the thread and tuck the supplies back into his bag. She sat up, grabbing the gauze and covered the wound before slipping back into her suit.

               She laid back down, and pulled out some provisions from her pack as she was lying on it. She stuffed the dried meat into her mouth.

               “How far from HQ are we?” she asked Deacon, who was now sitting against the wall with his map out.

               “Uhh, about a day’s walk?” Deacon estimated.

               Atlas wanted to groan, but resisted. She wanted to sleep, but she needed to find Shaun, and the only way to get back on track was to keep moving. She sat up and put her chest piece back on, getting ready to leave when Deacon held up a hand in protest.

               “We should stay here. The sun’ll be setting soon and we should rest,” he said.

               “We can’t stay here. It’s freezing, and it’s only going to get colder,” she retorted.

               “We’ll be fine,” he cooed. He rifled around in the small shed and found a few tarps, sheets, and even a blanket. He threw down the tarps, then unraveled their two sleeping bags, and threw the blanket on top.

               Atlas laid and watched him work on securing the door. She was reminded of how much he knew about her. She racked her brain trying to remember if she’d met him before, but nothing was coming to mind. He pulled back the blanket and gestured towards it with open palms.

               Atlas gave him a quiet applause as she awkwardly crawled inside, trying not to disturb her wound. Deacon slid into the bag next to hers. She let her eyes drift shut, feeling the exhaustion sink in. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation, but she was feeling a little gutsy.

               “How do you know so much about me, Deacon?” she mumbled.

               “My job is intel and surveillance,” he responded, now sleepily as well. “So I surveilled you and gathered intel.”

               She hummed thoughtfully. “So you’re a spy?”

               “Sure,” he said with a chuckle.

               The sun set and the shed was nearly black as the temperature continued to drop. They lied there for about an hour, trying to sleep, when Deacon spoke up.

               “You know what we’re going to have to do,” he shivered.

               “I’m totally warm, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Atlas lied.

               He rolled over to face her, propped up on an elbow. “Are you telling me, after everything, you’d be a-okay with dying from exposure?”

               She laid there for a moment, considering her options, before admitting defeat with a groan. She slipped out of the sleeping bag enough to slip off her jacket and vault suit, and shimmied it down to her ankles pushing it to the very end of the bag.

               Deacon was doing the same with all his layers. She could see him smirk in the dim light of the shed, and swatted his forehead.

               “Quit gawking,” she said through gritted teeth, sliding back under the covers. He let out a light laugh; he like her tenacity, even though he did feel bad about staring.

               Once he slipped back into his original position under the sleeping bag and blankets, Atlas wrapped her arms tightly around his waist, burying her face in his chest. The skin to skin contact felt foreign to her, to both, but it was working. She was immediately starting to warm up and let out a relieved sigh.

               The unexpectedness of her plowing into him so suddenly made Deacon let out a gasp. He pulled the blanket up to cover them, and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Although he just met her, this intimacy was nice; it felt good to pretend to have a real relationship with anyone.

               “So tell me,” she mumbled into his chest. “How long have you’ve been following me?”

               The question caught him off guard. He considered telling her the truth, that he was posted up near Vault 111 waiting for someone, anyone to emerge; that he saw her stumble off the platform, scared and alone, and all he did was watch. But he decided against it.

               “A few weeks,” he replied.

               “Why?” she probed.

               “Heard you were a vaultie, asked around a little bit, and found out you had missing nephew that could be connected to the Institute,” he shrugged, his words becoming slurred.

               Her eyes drifted close as her body reached a normal temperature, and Deacon was apparently doing the same. Atlas had one more thing to say.

               “Deacon?” she hummed, barely audible.

               He let out a soft grunt in acknowledgment.

               “If you tell anyone about this, I _will_ kill you.”

               He gave a soft giggle into the mess of her hair and replied with a simple ‘okay.’


	3. Chapter 3

“Desdemonaaa, we’re hoooome,” Deacon called out as the pair reentered the Railroad’s headquarters. Atlas rolled her eyes with a smile as she walked behind him.

               Desdemona approached the two, cigarette in hand, “And?”

               Deacon’s expression fell a little as he spoke, “It was infiltrated. Nothing’s left.”

               Desdemona hummed thoughtfully, “That’s a shame, many good agents were lost defending that safehouse.”

               She turned her attention to Atlas, “And her?”

               “Oh, Des, you should’ve seen it. Synths were comin’ at us left and right, and Atlas single-handedly took down the entire place,” he boasted.

               She turned quizzically to Atlas, “Is that true?”

               Atlas was gape-mouthed staring at Deacon before she realized she was being spoken to.

“Oh, uh, yeah.”

               Desdemona raised an eyebrow, “Hm. Deacon’s never lied so dramatically before about an initiate. You must be good.”

               Atlas blushed a deep red as Desdemona guided a hand to Tinker Tom’s work station. “Tom has finished decoding the relay device. You can speak to him whenever you are ready.”

               “Thank you,” Atlas replied with a curt nod, and made her way over to where Tinker Tom was sat.

               He was hunched over at his desk, scrawling notes on a pad, punching numbers into a beaten calculator, and scrawling more notes and numbers. She came up from the side, trying not to spook him in case he didn’t notice her approach.

               “Hey, Tom,” Atlas said with a smile; he looked up through his goggles.

               “Oh! Atlas was it? I finished the project,” he exclaimed eagerly.

               He slid his chair to the far end of the desk, grabbing the device she had given him, and slid back to her.

               He held the piece up, “I decoded the device, to figure out how it gets into the Institute.” He laid a hand on the mess of papers scattered on his desk. “And these are the blueprints to build the teleporter to send you into the Institute.”

               Atlas looked down at all the papers; she ran her fingers over the pages. So this is it. All she has to do now is build this contraption to get into the Institute. Her heart raced, and her head began to swim; she clenched her fist as if trying to steady herself.

               “You’ll need an awful lot of room to build this thing,” Tom explained. “We could build it here if you’d like,” he added hopefully.

               “No,” Atlas replied. “Thank you, but I’d rather do this back home. I have a man who can tackle this job.” She gave him a warm smile. “Thank you. So much.”

               Tom frowned, disappointed, “You’re welcome.” He began to gather the pages and put them in order as Desdemona laid a hand on Atlas’s shoulder.

               “You’re more than welcome to join the Railroad as an agent. We could use another strong figure on this team.”

               Tom interrupted before Atlas could give an answer. “If you could,” he handed her a holotape, “when you get into the Institute, download their system files on this. I’d love to see how that thing ticks.”

               Atlas chuckled, mostly at his blind optimism that she’ll make it out, and looked at him and then Desdemona. “I will.”

 

               Atlas was making her way back to Sanctuary, the plans for the teleporter neatly stuffed into her backpack. She was only a few miles away, when the pressure really set in as she remembered Tom’s parting words to her.

               “Now, I’m 100 percent confident that this will take you to the Institute, however, I am not so certain how stable it is,” he had told her. He explained that he wasn’t so sure how she’d be getting back, and that she was basically on her own.

               The entire trip back to her home, she was racking her brain on making a plan: what she was going to do once inside, how to look for Shaun, how to get back, the whole thing. That’s when Deacon’s whistling began to really frustrate her.

               “Do you _have_ to be doing that?” she turned to him.

               “It passes the time,” he said innocently.

               She pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose to regather herself. She was irritable, and it wasn’t his fault. Deacon made good, or at the very least entertaining, company; she was glad he decided to come back with her. After Tom had written up the blueprints, Deacon volunteered to help her find the supplies needed to build it. They were scavenging buildings as they made their way back up to the little neighborhood, taking whatever they could find. She had her backpack filled to the brim, and made Deacon carry the overflow; he only complained a little.

               They were walking up the cracked pavement of a road, when Atlas heard gunfire off in the distance. She immediately picked up the pace and hurried towards it. Deacon followed without question.

               “Starlight,” Atlas announced.

               They ran up to entrance of the drive-in, guns drawn, to see a cluster of ferals attacking the settlement. They blasted a few as they passed the old concession stand, Deacon ran past her, pulling a feral off a settler and putting a bullet in its head. Atlas crouched near the stools, neatly sniping the remaining ghouls near the old screen.

               She stood up, making sure the area was clear, and approached the settlement’s leader, Lora.

               “Good to see you again General,” Lora panted with a smile, wiping sweat from her brow.

               Atlas smiled back, “I’m assuming that means no casualties?”

               “Fortunately. We’ve been well stocked and well trained thanks to a certain someone,” she replied.

               Atlas slung her rifle over her shoulder, looking around at the settlers collecting the ghouls to be dragged off and burned. Small houses neatly crowded the northern half of the big lot, while the south side sported their dining and recreational shacks. Their doctor and other shops were located on the western section of the drive-in along the side of the screen. As the population grew, they began to build the settlement upwards, with connecting bridges and walkways that led all over. Atlas was proud of Lora and all the settlers here; she may have started it, but they made it grow.

               “I’ll make sure you have enough supplies to reinforce all the walls here,” Atlas refocused on Lora, but she held up a hand in protest.

               “No need, we were in the process of patching up one weak area and they slipped in. First breech since the walls were up four months ago.” She excused herself as she went to go talk to man who had waved her over.

               Deacon rejoined Atlas with a high-five. “Nice shootin’.”

               She smiled, “Thanks.”

               His face softened behind his glasses, “He’d be proud, you know.”

               She pursed her lips, not meeting his gaze. “Let’s settle here for the night; get back on our way to Sanctuary in the morning.” She turned to walk toward her personal quarters in the southwestern corner of the settlement.

               “You can crash at my place, or sleep in the streets. Your call,” she called over her shoulder.

               He furrowed his brow, hoping he didn’t piss her off too much. He didn’t mean to cross a line, but yet again, he only knew about Maccready from spying on her and she didn’t take too kindly to that. He jogged up next to her, trying to lighten the mood.

               “Remember that time we had to cuddle so we wouldn’t die?” he said.

               She stopped to smack him in the stomach with the back of her hand; hard enough for him to let out a gasp. _Well that didn’t work_.

               She led him up two flights of stairs, and down a sort-of hallway to a room at the end. She opened a door to reveal a small, but well decorated apartment; the main room, a living room, had a sofa with a coffee table and radio positioned in front of it. There was an armchair next to the couch that accompanied an end table with a decorative, and functioning, lamp. Off to the left of the room was a tiny sink and stove, side by side. Next to the sink was a bookshelf littered with coffee cups, beer, wine, liquor, and cookware. Shelves lined most of the apartment with little trinkets and other found objects.

               “The beds are around that corner,” she waved a hand, stripping down her layers. She grabbed a beer from the shelf and sat down on the sofa, turning on the radio.

               She took a sip and laid her head back, closing her eyes. Deacon took in his new surroundings; this definitely suited her. He sat down on the couch next to her, a few inches away.

               “How far are we from being able to build the relay pad?” Deacon asked.

               Atlas opened her eyes and leaned forward to set her beer down. “We have it all.”

               “So we’re gonna have Sturges build it when we get back to Sanctuary tomorrow?”

               Atlas ran her hands aggressively through her hair, knocking her hat off; her face rested in her hands. “Yes,” she mumbled.

               Deacon hesitated, but laid a hand on her shoulder. “It’s gonna be fine,” he said quietly, trying to be reassuring.

               “That’s your worst lie yet,” she chuckled. She rested her hand on top of his. “I’m glad you came with me.”

               “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, boss,” he replied with a crooked smile.

              

               “You want me to what?” Sturges asked incredulously.

               Atlas and Deacon were standing in the cul-de-sac of Sanctuary with Sturges. Atlas had handed him Tinker Tom’s blueprints for the relay transporter, and gave him a rundown of her mission. Needless to say, he was taken aback.

               “I just need this built, and I know you can do it, Sturges,” Atlas smiled.

               He grimaced at her nervously. “I can do it, I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

               “Well good thing we didn’t ask,” Deacon said under his breath, which earned him an elbow to the ribs from Atlas.

               “Sturges,” she pleaded, clasping her hands together.

               “Alright, just give me a few days,” Sturges said reluctantly.

               Atlas gave him a tight hug, “Thank you.”

              

The next five days were a blur. Atlas did everything in her power to keep her mind busy. She picked up the slack from Sturges’s other job while he worked on her contraption, and in the interim she’d take on other odd jobs to keep her mind off her impending doom. She hadn’t been sleeping much, and spent whatever free time scouting some of the buildings in Concord or walking the perimeter. Deacon spent the entire time trying to keep her at ease, even though he was just as worried as her. They had become fast friends since they officially met a few weeks prior, and Deacon enjoyed getting to know her as a person and not just a ‘subject.’

The next thing Atlas knew she was stood on the platform of the relay device, nails digging into her palms. Her jaw was clenched, and she heard Deacon talking to her.

               “Huh?” she looked at him, confused.

               “C’mon, boss, stay with me,” he said patting her cheek. “You’re gonna do fine, don’t worry.”

               “Do I look worried to you?” she asked shakily.

               “Alright, Atlas, we’re ready,” Sturges announced from the control board off to the side.

               Atlas turned back to Deacon and chuckled nervously. “So what’re you gonna do while I’m gone?”

               He opened his mouth to respond, but realized he didn’t have a good answer. He didn’t really think about what he was going to do while she was in the Institute, but it dawned on him that he wanted to stick around the neighborhood until she returned.

               Instead, he gave her a kind smile and a vague answer, “I’ll be here when you get back.” Which earned him an eased smile from her.

Deacon turned to step off the pad, when Atlas caught his wrist, pulling him in for a tight hug. This one, he actually reciprocated.

               “If I’m not back in three days,” she said quietly, swallowing the lump in her throat, “assume I’m not coming back.”

               He released her, and put both hands on her shoulders, looking deep into her eyes. “You’ll come back.”

               He stepped off the pad as Sturges began to prep the launch pad. It started to hum, and grew into a loud whir.

               “You ready?” Sturges called over the noise. Atlas just gave him a curt nod.

               The pad began to vibrate as the machine started to charge up. Worry and anxiousness were carved into Atlas’s face as lightening cracked from the pillars surrounding the device. She could hear Sturges calling over the ruckus, but her ears were pounding and she if she tried to focus on his voice she thought she’d puke.

               And in an instant, she was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

Deacon was pacing Atlas’s apartment for the millionth time today. Why wasn’t she back yet? Did she even make it into the Institute? That last crack of lightening destroyed the machine, did Atlas just get vaporized into an oblivion? Did she die right then and there? He wanted to punch something, to break something. Hell, he nearly attacked Sturges when the relay pad exploded.

               It had been two days, and with each passing hour Deacon got more anxious. Atlas said she’d be back before day three, he didn’t have any reason to doubt her, she wasn’t a liar like him. But his stomach was in knots trying to avoid dealing with the possibility of her not coming back. His eyes were starting to swell as he clamped them shut, trying not to cry.

               He sucked in a deep breath and decided to go for a walk around the neighborhood. And if she wasn’t back by sundown, he’d head back to HQ and… deal with all of this there.

               He was strolling around the neighborhood, as casually as he could make himself. Everyone seemed to be on edge; everyone knew where Atlas was, and they were all worried. He couldn’t escape it. He decided to do something he seldom does: drink. He made his way to the town’s bar.

               He sat in the far corner on a sofa, two shots of whiskey already stirring in his stomach, and a beer in hand. He felt lighter, a little more relaxed. He leaned against the arm of the chair, propped up on an elbow, and closed his eyes almost as if to will Atlas home.

               He sat like that for about an hour, when he started to get antsy again. He polished off his beer, and got another shot as he left. He went back to Atlas’s house and flopped onto her couch. Whether it was a mix of the two days of sleep deprivation or the alcohol, but Deacon was passed out in minutes.

              

               He woke up with a jolt to a loud crack outside. How long was he asleep? It was dark out, the street lamps softly illuminating the surroundings. Before he had the chance to get up, the knob on the front door started to turn. He gripped the cushion of the couch anxiously.

               Atlas slowly walked through the door, peering into the room. Her eyes landed on Deacon and she gave him a tight smile.

               He flung himself over the back of the couch and wrapped his arms tightly around her neck, so much so, she had trouble breathing, but she didn’t care. She gripped the fabric of his shirt trying to pull him closer, burying her face into his shoulder.

               He was so thrilled to have her back he forgot his own no-touching rule. He pulled away abruptly, trying to regather his casual demeanor. He looked away, adjusting his glasses, blushing slightly.

               “I’m glad you’re back,” he said simply.

               “Me too,” Atlas said, biting her lip. She averted her eyes, tears starting to form at the corners.

               “What’s wrong? What happened?” Deacon pressed.

               The waterworks let loose; she was sobbing into her hands. Deacon stood there uncomfortably, not wanting to push his boundaries, but he figured he already blew it with the hug, may as well give in a little more. He moved her hands from her face, wiping the tears from her cheeks. He guided her to the sofa and wrapped her in the blanket from the adjacent armchair.

               “This isn’t necessary,” she laughed in between tears.

               “It absolutely is,” he said sternly, placing a kiss on her forehead. _What is wrong with you, stop it!_ He yelled at himself.

               He sat next to her, and she rested her head on his shoulder and nuzzled against his neck.

               “What happened, Atlas?” he asked softly, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

               She told him about how _different_ the Institute is; how it’s not anything like people think it is, and how different it is from anywhere else in the Commonwealth. She told him about all their tech and labs and projects. She left Shaun for last. She was still trying to wrap her head around how much time had passed _in addition_ to her 200 years in Vault 111. She was also slightly ashamed that it was a relative running the Institute, the most feared organization in the Wasteland, but was more ashamed that she didn’t think the Institute was inherently evil.

               “I just… I don’t think they’re as bad as people seem to think they are,” Atlas sniffled, calming down.

               Deacon held his tongue; the Railroad knew more about the Institute than the people of the Commonwealth, but now didn’t seem like the time to debate. Unfortunately for him, Atlas had gotten to know Deacon pretty well, and could sense what he was going to say.

               “I know you think they’re evil, and they might be, but… they have cures for extremely treatable diseases that we don’t have up here; their technology is…beyond what I knew pre-war,” she continued. “Maybe I can reason with Shaun about synths or…” she trailed off, and groaned.

               Deacon rubbed her shoulder sympathetically.

               “Everything sucks,” she murmured.

               “It sure does,” he replied.

               They sat like that in silence for a few moments before he realized Atlas had fallen asleep on him. He sighed thoughtfully to himself, resting his head on top of hers. He hated how he felt about her, but he was tired of denying it. He fought for so long not to develop any sort of unprofessional feelings towards anyone, and here he was. He loved her, not romantically, but wholly. He missed having a closeness to someone, and although she never confirmed or denied her own feelings, he felt that it was platonic on her end as well. He was grateful that they could share moments like this, enjoying each other’s company without it going any further. She still had feelings for Maccready, and he was still…sorting things out for himself. They were alone, but they were alone together.


End file.
